Like a Hand Around Your Heart (we just needed more time)
by earthly squib
Summary: Sometime in season fourteen, Dean is turned into a five-year-old. Sam can't get over how cute his brother is. Mary… Mary gets a bit of a shock. Featuring: fluff, family and tiny!Dean.


**AN: This obviously takes place after they manage to get Michael out of Dean's body.**

Well, _that was a bit unexpected_ , Sam thought as he stepped into the bunker. He heard a small sniffle against his shoulder that appeared to be an agreement. With a fond glance down at the small shape that had apparently decided to fuse itself to his torso, Sam managed to manoeuvre one arm (the one that was also carrying their shopping bags) free so he could shut the door to the garage. Then, he hooked it back beneath the damp-eyed, chubby-cheeked lump in his arms and started to make his way down the stairs.

His brother had started crying on the car ride home.

Not that Sam could really blame him. The stress of the situation was obviously a bit too much for a little one to handle. But it wasn't until he started to hear those quiet, stuttered sobs coming from the backseat that he realised this wasn't quite like those previous times. When Dean became an old man, he might have had acid reflux, but he was still Dean. When Dean became a thirteen-year-old he might have developed a sudden and embarrassing love for Taylor Swift, but he was still Dean. For the most part, his brother's transformations had always been physical, with minimal effects on his personality. This time… this time the curse appeared to have regressed Dean on an emotional level as well.

Not to say that Dean had never cried in front of his little brother before but never, ever, had he sought comfort from him. Which was why Sam was so surprised when Dean all but collided with his abdomen when they got out of the car.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dean muttered, "You can put me down now."

Sam quirked an eyebrow and looked down to meet Dean's suddenly enormous green eyes. "You sure?"

Dean's round cheeks reddened, and his eyebrows scrunched together in a rather adorable imitation of the adult scowl Sam was so used to. It was… so adorable. Sam couldn't quite get over how cute his brother was. He figured it just wasn't something you really notice when you're the younger sibling. Even in Sam's earliest memories, Dean had always been tall and tough. Had always seemed larger than life.

" _Sam._ "

Sam coughed and tried to smother his smile. "Just checking, Dean."

He dropped his shrunken brother gently to the floor and put the shopping bags down in front of him. The problem, they'd figured out pretty much as soon as the spell hit, was that Dean's clothes didn't shrink with him. The black tee-shirt that was previously just a _little_ bit too snug now fell past Dean's knees and only the tips of his little fingers could be seen peeking out of his jacket's sleeves. His brother was tiny. Sam had never seen him so small.

Dean scowled at the bags but quickly rummaged for a decent outfit and then disappeared into the bathroom.

They'd stopped at Walmart on the way home and picked out enough outfits to last a week. Along with some pyjamas and a child's toothbrush. There was no telling how long the spell would take to wear off.

A moment later, tiny, scowling Dean stepped out of the bathroom wearing a batman tee-shirt and jeans. He was still stubbornly wearing his enormous jacket.

Dean raised his arms and looked down at himself, then back at Sam. "Better?" he asked.

Sam smiled, "Much."

Dean's gaze turned down to his little bare feet against the stone floor and Sam could just make out his small sigh. "I hate witches," he muttered.

"I know."

"Why does this always happen to me?"

Sam felt his heart tug at the note of despair in Dean's voice. "I don't know, Dean."

"Well I'm sick of it, Sammy!" Dean raised his head to meet Sam's gaze and to his horror, Dean's eyes began to fill with tears again. "I'm sick of it. And I'm sick of not being able to control my e-emotions," he said, and stopped, taking in shuddering breath and wiping furiously at his eyes. After a moment, he whispered, forlorn, "Why can't I stop crying?"

Sam, at a loss of what to do, knelt down and pulled Dean to his chest. His brother went limp as soon as his head rested on Sam's shoulder.

"It's been a long day," Sam muttered, rubbing a hand across his brother's back.

He felt Dean's wet cheeks rub against his neck as his little head nodded in agreement.

A door slammed somewhere upstairs. Dean flinched in his arms.

"Sam? Dean?"

Their mother's blonde head appeared at the top of the staircase. Sam knew she couldn't see them from that angle and called, "Down here!"

Dean suddenly grew tense in his arms. Sam was about to ask him what was wrong when a Mary, wearing a tired but genuine smile, stepped into view. The moment their mother's eyes landed on the child in Sam's arms, she paused, and the smile twisted into a frown.

"Who's this?" she asked Sam, after a moment.

Before Sam could open his mouth to answer, Dean turned within the circle of his embrace and slowly tilted his head so Mary could see his face. Sam heard their mother's sharp inhale and watched as she raised a trembling hand to her lips.

"Hey Mom," Dean whispered.

Mary looked a bit like she'd taken a blow to the stomach. She gaped at Dean, in all his tiny glory, for a long moment before taking a hesitant step forward.

"I don't—" she stopped, cutting herself off and then, voice breaking, "What happened?"

"We had a pretty nasty encounter with a witch," Sam said.

"I hate witches," Dean mumbled.

Sam gave his little arm a comforting squeeze. "I know."

Mary's eyes were suspiciously shiny and, seeming to wobble a bit, she slowly crouched down onto the floor next to them.

"Dean?" she asked, voice hushed.

Sam heard a tiny sniffle and watched as another tear slid down Dean's cheek. "I hate this," he said, voice thick. "I can't stop crying."

Their mother looked like she was having a similar struggle herself and reached out to wipe the tear from Dean's cheek.

A shudder ran through Dean's body and he let out a sob. In an instant, Mary had him swept into her embrace, squeezing like she never planned to let go. Not ever. Her movements were instinctive, like she'd comforted this little person a thousand times and despite the time elapsed since he abruptly grew too large to fit against her chest, too old for her to wipe away his tears, she'd never forgotten how.

"Oh darling," she whispered, stroking a hand through Dean's hair, "it's okay. Mommy's here."

 _Mommy's never leaving you again._

Later, they would set about finding a way to fix this. A week from then, they would hunt down the witch and force her to reverse what she'd done. But in that moment, crouched on the floor of the bunker, Sam watched his mother hold her little boy for the first time in over thirty years. He watched as something that they'd lost finally, finally, clicked back into place.

Sam's relationship with their mother hadn't been the same struggle as Dean's. Because Sam wasn't old enough to remember Mary and hadn't missed her in the same, fierce way his brother had. He loved his mother, of course. But he never _needed_ her because he'd always had Dean. That, in the end, had been enough.

Dean's struggle to reconnect with their mother was something he could never quite understand. So, he'd watched from the sidelines as two of the most important people in his life struggled to find balance between them, when it seemed they were always on uneven ground. Even when it got easier, and Mary learned to love them again, they never quite managed to close the last of the cavern between them. Now, watching his brother's tiny body tremble in his mother's embrace, and watching Mary press her face against that blond head and cry just as hard, he knew some pressure had eased. Some age-old grief buried inside them, was finally laid bare to the world.

This, he thought, was what Dean and their mother had needed all along.

Just a little more time.

 **Author's Note:**

 **That moment when you stay up till 2:30 in the morning because you had a sudden urge to write a De-Aged Dean fic. Not my finest hour. (And probably not my finest fic.)**

 **Okay, I have to admit that I haven't been keeping up with Supernatural since around the beginning of season eleven, so I apologise if anything in this fic contradicts canon. I have, however, watched a number of clips and a smattering of episodes about Dean and his rather strenuous relationship with Mary. Their relationship is one I find endlessly fascinating and this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone so, here you go.**

 **Please let me know if anyone (besides Dean because let's face it, he's five and a little emotionally compromised) acts too OOC. Or if any elements of the story blatantly contradict canon. Constructive criticism is always welcome! xx**

 **Additional note:** **This has also been posted on ao3 under the same title. My handle over there is evening_skies.**


End file.
